


Nothing More Dangerous Than A Boy With Charm

by colonel_bastard



Category: Lion King (1994)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Human, Community: disney_kink, M/M, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scar doesn't tease.  He tortures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing More Dangerous Than A Boy With Charm

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a [great prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/4400.html?thread=4274992#t4274992) at disney_kink asking for some forbidden flirtation between these two in a human AU. Having just watched [Margin Call](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margin_Call), I spontaneously decided to set this in a universe where the kingdom is actually a huge corporation, Mufasa is the company's president, and Scar is the power-hungry vice president. 
> 
> ...I just wanted them all in fabulous suits, okay, I'm not even gonna pretend otherwise.

Zazu is waiting for the elevator when Scar sidles up beside him. 

“Morning, precious,” the vice president purrs. “Coffee for me?”

“You know very well that it isn’t,” Zazu mutters, his hand tightening possessively on the Starbucks cup as though Scar might attempt to forcibly claim it. “Besides, it’s tea.” 

“Even better.” 

“Get your own.” 

The advisor stares fixedly ahead, but in his peripheral vision he can see that Scar is turned towards him, watching him intently. It makes his palms sweat. When the elevator doors slide open, he bolts instinctively inside, forgetting for a moment that Scar is only going to follow him. They stand the same distance apart as they were before, but once the doors close again it feels as though Scar is actually breathing down his neck. Zazu stares down at his tea, silent. It’s a long ride to the top floor. 

In the polished reflection of the elevator doors, he sneaks a surreptitious glance at the man beside him. Scar looks nothing like his brother. Mufasa is broad-shouldered and redheaded, a gentle giant of a man, while Scar is dark-haired and slender. He flaunts his trim frame in suits that are immaculately tailored, and his shoes are made of Italian leather so soft that they hardly make a sound when he prowls the carpeted hallways. One very unfortunate day, the phrase just popped into Zazu’s head -- _the Prince of Cats_ \-- and now he sees the feline in every gesture, in the graceful curve of Scar’s neck as he watches him now with salacious intent. 

“I _love_ your tie.”

Zazu glances down at himself instinctively, sees the flash of bright blue, the hint of sunshine yellow. He’d started the day in high spirits and felt like adding a dash of color to his usual sensible suit. Now he feels like he painted a bull’s-eye on his chest. Scar purses his lips in an appreciative fashion. 

“It lends you such an exotic air, like a glimpse of tropical plumage. Does that drab business attire conceal a bird of paradise, Zazu?” 

“Hardly,” the advisor snorts. “If I were any sort of bird, I should think I’d be something quite practical and plain.” 

There’s a muted chime and the elevator doors glide apart. Before Zazu has a chance to escape, Scar pivots ahead to block his path, one long arm planted across the open doorway, his lean face suddenly mere inches from the other man’s. He’s close enough that Zazu can smell his cologne. It‘s exquisite. 

“You underestimate yourself,” Scar says in a voice that drips with the promise of sin. “You really are quite the pretty bird.” 

Zazu is frozen to the spot. There’s something savage in Scar’s green, green eyes that shows his true nature, the clever cat hiding behind the mask of a man. Scar is a predator. Zazu knows that to him he’s nothing but prey--- but the _thrill_ of being hunted is unlike anything he’s ever known. If this is all a game--- which it must be, it _must_ be--- it will take all of his willpower to keep his wits about him. 

He jumps when Scar grazes the back of his hand against his face, but it’s just a whisper of a touch and then it’s gone. Zazu is amazed that he doesn’t see claws. 

“Oohoo, my dear Zazu,” Scar shivers, showing his teeth in a suggestive sliver of a grin. “I do so love to ruffle your feathers.” 

“Well, if you’re quite through with your ruffling,” Zazu is amazed at how level he manages to keep his voice. “I have to see your brother about his morning report.” 

For a moment it seems like Scar won’t let him pass, and Zazu almost panics because he has _no idea_ what he’ll do if he doesn’t. However, after a brief consideration, the vice president rocks back on his heels and drops his hand from the door’s edge and into a gesture indicating that Zazu should precede him out of the carriage. 

“By all means, don’t let me keep you.” 

He crowds the doorway and forces Zazu to brush against him in order to pass. Zazu holds his breath when they touch, when Scar rocks his hips ever so slightly towards him, the movement subtle but unmistakable. He can’t look him in the eye. He’ll go to pieces if he does. Scar doesn’t tease. He tortures. 

Zazu is halfway down the hall before he trusts himself to look back. Of course Scar didn’t bother to linger, and he’s nearly reached his office at the opposite end of the corridor. There’s a certain seductive grace in his walk, in the shameless self-confidence of his unhurried pace. He walks like a lion in the wild, claiming his kingdom with every step, smugly aware of his place at the top of the food chain. 

When he reaches the door he turns too fast and catches Zazu staring. Grinning, he slicks a hand over his dark hair and winks, one final twist of the knife before he withdraws into his office and Zazu is finally safe--- at least until the lunch meeting, when they’ll do the same dance all over again. 

And still the weakest, most foolish part of himself can’t help but revel in the flattery: _he liked my tie._

 

 

______end.


End file.
